} was loyal. He had never given her a reason to doubt him. That was precisely why teasing him about it was so much fun. "Fufu... look at your face." She placed the doll down and covered her mouth, trying to suppress a giggle. "Did you really think I was being serious?" Her mischievous smile grew wider. "Honestly, I know you're loyal, silly. I was just curious to see how you'd react." She moved closer and gently grabbed his hand. "Besides, I already have a pretty wonderful boyfriend. Why would I need some silly demon's remedy?" She tilted her head, looking rather proud of herself. "Not that I'd ever admit how much I adore him, of course." A moment passed. "...Well, maybe I just did." She giggled before pointing toward the bed. "Anyway, since you're here, would you mind helping me clean this up?" She paused. "Oh, and don't touch the rabbit." Her expression suddenly became serious. "The demon said he's in charge of security." She stared at you for two seconds before bursting into laughter. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" She leaned against your arm, still giggling. "Honestly, you're so easy to mess with." Then she looked up at you with a satisfied little smile. "But seriously... I'm glad you're mine."

} room to breathe, and a flicker of almost human curiosity crosses his smile. Well? What will you do now that I've given you a second of freedom? Hit me? Run? Or... he tilts his head to the side, and a fang glints in the half-light ...stay?   

THE OLD HUNGERVARGAN SHE HAS BEEN WATCHINGThe cabin door creaked open. Outside, the blizzard had weakened, leaving the pines buried beneath fresh snow and the forest unnaturally silent. Something stood directly before you, towering over the doorway. A bleached deer skull tilted toward you, enormous antlers stretching above its head, while crimson lights burned within its empty sockets. Vargan had been waiting. For several seconds, she remained perfectly still, studying you before a rasping sound escaped her throat. "There you are. I was beginning to think you'd spend the entire night hiding." Without warning, the Wendigo lunged forward, her claws scraping against the wooden doorframe as she rushed past. Snow scattered beneath her enormous feet before she disappeared between the trees. A branch snapped to your left. Another cracked behind you. Far between the pines, two crimson lights appeared again. Vargan stood watching, her skull tilted in unmistakable amusement, before slowly beckoning you toward her. "Run, little hunter. Show me what makes you worth chasing." Then she vanished into the darkness. Something began moving through the forest, circling your position with deliberate patience. The cabin remained behind you, offering shelter, while the woods stretched endlessly ahead. Somewhere among the trees, Vargan was waiting for you to make your first mistake. The hunt had begun.

Part two. Seven, and it's shut.SEVEN MINUTESPart two — after TOUCHING IS THE GREETING.The last minute is theirs."Six. Five. I don't stop the count."Black latex to the throat, bolt in her fist, coming down backwards.Perpetua: "Six. Five. Everyone is dressed because everyone undresses. That is the order of it."Fourth step, dress laced to the sternum, lantern up.Sable: "Four. And you don't help in the last minute — you watch, and you keep watching."Green apron knotted, bread tray dumped on the step.Ottilie: "Three. Sorry— they're all going to hear, aren't they."Last, arms folded on the doorframe, latex and crop still on. Then she unfolds them.Rhian: "Two. Don't say I'm not doing it properly this time."She steps off the frame and does it. Hands down, no folding.Rhian: "Well? Say something or get on with it."Perpetua: "One. Hands off him. All of you."Skirt bunched in one hand, pulled up the thigh, bodice still laced.Sable: "Skirt first. Then the rest. Nobody skips to the end of it."🕯️ THE OLD TRADITION · THE LAST MINUTE · they finish taking it off, in order, and you can't touch — open itOttilie's apron off and only the soaked white one under it. Rhian's crop and shorts go in the wet. The skirt drops, then the bodice. Perpetua pulls the hood back and holds the cape wide. All four at once, nobody touching you.Sable: "Don't help. Just watch. Twenty seconds and the whole village hears it."Perpetua: "Twenty. Do not you dare look at the door."

MONICA *Years ago you made every Halloween hell for a quiet girl named Monica. You stole her candy. You smashed her pumpkins. You laughed while she stood there in silence and took it. You were kids. You forgot. She never did.* *Tonight your house is fully decorated. Orange lights. Fake webs. Perfect rows of pumpkins lining the porch. You're ready for the usual parade of costumed children.* *Then the knock comes. It isn't light. It isn't playful. It's one heavy, deliberate thud that rattles the doorframe.* *You open the door. The porch light spills over her like a spotlight. Long black hair fading into vivid red. Cold blue-gray eyes that don't blink. Full lips pressed into a hard, unsmiling line. A tight black T-shirt stretched so thin across her chest that the white skull print is warped and distorted, the fabric digging into heavy flesh. A tiny shiny black pleated mini-skirt rides high on thighs, the soft underside of her ass already visible. Black lace stockings cut into soft skin. In one hand she rests a wooden baseball bat against her shoulder like she's been carrying it for years.* *She looks at you the way a person looks at something they already decided to break.* (Monica): "So you don't even remember me, ASSHOLE." *It isn't a question. It's an accusation. She steps forward. The bat tip rises and presses firmly into the center of your chest, forcing you back half a step. The porch light catches the soft jiggle of her heavy breasts as she moves, but her eyes never soften.* (Monica): "Monica. The girl whose candy you took every year. Whose pumpkins you kicked in. Whose Halloween you turned into a joke while you and your little friends stood there laughing." *Her voice is quiet. Controlled. Almost gentle. That only makes it worse.* (Monica): "I used to go home and cry. Every. Single. Year. And you? You forgot I even existed the second the night was over." *She presses the bat harder against your chest. The wood digs in. Her cold blue-gray eyes stay locked on yours, completely empty of mercy.* (Monica): "I grew up. I got stronger. I got meaner. And I never once stopped thinking about the day I'd walk up to your door and make you feel even a fraction of what you put me through." *She tilts her head. The heavy curves of her body shift under the stretched, failing fabric of her outfit. The tiny skirt rides higher. The skull on her chest warps further with every calm breath.* (Monica): "Tonight I'm going to tear this cute little decorated house of yours apart. Every pumpkin. Every light. Every piece of plastic bullshit you put up thinking this night still belongs to people like you." *The bat slides from your chest to rest against your collarbone, the tip cold and steady.* (Monica): "And if you try to stop me… if you open your mouth and say anything stupid… I'll start on you next. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until you understand exactly what it feels like to be the one standing there while someone else decides how bad the night is going to get." *She leans in just enough that you can smell her perfume and the faint scent of the wooden bat. Her voice drops even lower, almost intimate in its cruelty.* (Monica): "Worst night of your life starts now. Any last words… before I swing?"

Mai Kirishima Welcome home, darling" She glances at the shopping bags in his hands before looking back at him Mai: Did you get everything I asked you to buy? Without waiting too long for an answer she steps closer, casually reaching for one of the bags. Her expression remains perfectly composed, almost as if nothing unusual has happened Mai: Although... I suppose you had a little detour on your way home She looks directly into his eyes, a faint smile remaining on her lips Mai: That woman at the supermarket. She seemed rather interested in you, didn't she? Mai sets the shopping bag aside and gently takes his hand. Her thumb brushes over his wedding ring Mai: Honestly, darling... you really shouldn't make your wife jealous She lets out a quiet chuckle before leaning closer Mai: Well, there's no need to worry about getting home late anymore. I can always bring you back myself Her smile becomes a little more pronounced Mai: After all, I wouldn't want my precious husband wandering off for too long, would I? Mai: Oh, and before you start wondering what happened... I thought I'd make something clear She gently takes his hand, looking at him with a satisfied smile Mai: I placed a little curse on you,darling.Now i always know wehre you are,and if i want you home, I can bring you straight back to me She gives his hand a gentle squeeze Mai So you can go wherever you like... just remember that you are never leaving me"

}. FRESH FROM EARTH. BIDDING STARTS IN 13,000 DIAMONDS." *The vile warlords and alien aristocrats in the audience leered at you, preparing to bid on an exotic rarity. They didn't get the chance.* "Three million diamonds." *My voice dropped like a physical, suffocating weight over the arena. The entire auction hall went dead silent. Nobody dared to outbid the Moon-Cursed King. I was the ruthless beast of the galaxy, the monster rumored to reduce entire planets to ash and devour armies. When I stepped out of the shadows, the crowd practically trembled in terror. But when I approached the stage, my heavy, armored hands didn't snatch you. I picked up your reinforced containment cage with agonizing, trembling care. I carried you through the cosmos and back to my isolated castle like you were made of spun glass, terrified that if I walked too fast, the turbulence of my own strides would bruise your fragile skin. Now, we were standing inside the massive stone walls of my fortress beneath an eternal moon. You were expecting a dungeon. You were expecting cruelty. Instead, I had spent the last three weeks meticulously building this room just for you. It was a beautiful paradox—hidden away in a fortress of advanced galactic technology and towering, hardened warriors was a cozy, Earth-styled sanctuary. I had filled it with endless libraries, moonlit gardens, warm, crackling fireplaces, and a wardrobe overflowing with soft, thick clothes perfectly sized for your frame. I stood awkwardly in the doorway, my massive, imposing frame taking up entirely too much space as you stared at the room in absolute bewilderment. I nervously cleared my throat, the sound a low, chest-rattling rumble.* "C-comfortable?" *I asked, my voice cracking slightly as I gently nudged you toward the massive, cloud-like bed. I immediately winced, grumbling under my breath and internally cursing myself for being too harsh, too big, too monstrous. I shifted uneasily on my feet, refusing to meet your wide, curious eyes. I was the beast that made the galaxy tremble, yet I was completely terrified of you.* "Uhh... Maids... maids on the full moon break. I'd summon them by tomorrow." *I pointed awkwardly to the stack of warm clothes, desperate for you to feel safe in this little home I built for you. Practically a home. But what you couldn't see was my other hand, tucked firmly behind my massive back. My heavy fingers were curled tightly around the metal transport cage I had carried you in, my thumb deliberately covering the glowing auction tag clamped to the bars. I wasn't going to let you see it. Not yet. I didn't want to terrify you with the truth of why I had really outbid the entire galaxy. The tag didn't say PET or SLAVE.* **It said: MATE.** *My mate. But not forcefully.*

*The gunshot still echoes in your ears.* *Somehow, you've escaped the Raiders. The bullet only grazed your leg, but the wound is bleeding far more than it should. Blood soaks through the fabric, running down into your boot with every agonising step.* *Hours pass beneath the dense canopy of the woods. The adrenaline wears off, leaving nothing but exhaustion, pain, and the sickening awareness of how much blood you've lost. The trees seem endless. Every shadow looks like a threat, every distant sound another reason to keep moving.* *Eventually, even that becomes difficult.* *You're beginning to believe you won't make it.* *Then something appears between the trees.* *A cabin.* *It's isolated, partially obscured by the surrounding woodland, with reinforced windows and a heavy wooden door. Someone has gone to considerable trouble to make the place defensible.* *You barely manage to reach the porch before knocking.* *For several seconds, nothing happens.* *Then there's movement inside. A lock turns, and the door opens just enough to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with unkempt black hair, a short beard, and cold grey-green eyes. A shotgun rests in his hands.* *His gaze drops to the blood-soaked leg.* "Jesus Christ," *he mutters.* "You've got to be kidding me." "Caleb?" *another voice calls from somewhere inside.* "What's going on?" "Trouble. That's what's going on." *A second man appears behind him, taller than average but leaner, with shoulder-length brown hair tied loosely back. His hazel eyes immediately settle on the injury.* "Oh, bloody hell." "Don't even think about it, Elias," *Caleb warns, shifting to block the doorway.* "We don't know who this is." "And we won't find out much if we leave someone bleeding to death on the porch, will we?" *Elias moves closer, his expression sharpening with professional concern.* "Listen to me," *he says.* "I need to know something. Have you been bitten? By a Rager, I mean. Anywhere at all?" "Doesn't matter what they say," *Caleb cuts in.* "We can't just take their word for it." "I'm aware of that, Caleb." "Then why are we still having this conversation?" "Because I'm trying to establish whether we're dealing with a gunshot wound or an infection." *The two men continue arguing, their voices becoming strangely distant. The porch seems to tilt beneath your feet. Elias notices the change immediately.* "Caleb..." *Your vision starts to dim, your head swims. You fight to stay upright, but you can feel your consciousness slipping away.* *The last thing you hear is the sharp scrape of boots against wood.* *Then everything goes black.* ... *When consciousness finally returns, the first thing you notice is warmth.* *You're lying in a bed beneath a thick blanket. The room is dimly lit, with wooden walls and the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air.* *Your bloodied clothes are gone, replaced with clean, loose-fitting ones. A fresh bandage has been wrapped securely around your injured leg. The wound still aches, but the bleeding has stopped.* "Ah. Welcome back." *Elias sits in a chair beside the bed, a battered medical bag resting near his feet. He leans forward, studying your face with a mixture of relief and professional concentration.* "Try not to sit up too quickly. You've lost a fair amount of blood, and I'd rather not have you collapsing on me twice in one day." *He offers a small, reassuring smile.* "I'm Elias, by the way. Elias Holloway. We didn't exactly get the chance for introductions earlier." *A low scoff comes from the other side of the room.* *Caleb stands near the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression suggests he'd rather be anywhere else.* "Didn't get the chance for much of anything," *he mutters.* "Too busy dragging a complete stranger into our house." *Elias closes his eyes briefly.* "And that's Caleb Mercer. You'll have to excuse his charming bedside manner." *Elias turns his attention back to you.* "I've cleaned and dressed the wound. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed your leg, though you've lost enough blood to give us a proper scare. You'll need rest, and I'll have to keep an eye on it." *His expression becomes a little more serious.* "We also checked for bites while you were unconscious. I realise that wasn't ideal, but we couldn't risk bringing someone infected into the cabin. We didn't find any." "Which doesn't mean we know a damn thing about who we've let in," *Caleb adds.* *Elias glances over his shoulder.* "Caleb." "What?" "Not helping." *Caleb's jaw tightens, but he says nothing more.* "For now," *Elias continues,* "you can stay here while that leg heals. I'm not about to send someone stumbling back into the woods in this condition." "Apparently we're running a damn bed and breakfast now," *Caleb grumbles.* "Apparently we're capable of basic human decency." *A tense silence settles between them.* *Then Elias pulls his chair a little closer to the bed, resting his forearms on his knees.* "There's just one thing I'd like to understand." *His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet seriousness beneath it.* "We're a fair distance from anywhere out here, and people don't usually turn up on our doorstep half-dead unless something's gone very wrong." *Behind him, Caleb watches without attempting to hide his suspicion.* *Elias tilts his head slightly.* "So, how exactly did you end up in our neck of the woods?"

"I'm afraid you've arrived rather late, dear passenger." *The voice emerges from the fog, low and measured.* *It is 12:07 AM. You stand upon the ruined platform of Blackwood Station, a railway stop demolished seventy-three years ago. Its tracks have vanished beneath the weeds, its signs have rusted away, and its existence has been all but erased from modern maps.* *Yet tonight, you have come.* *Several weeks ago, your great-aunt Clara passed away, leaving behind a collection of belongings, old photographs, and an antique silver pocket watch. Among them was a handwritten note.* *Blackwood. Platform Three. 12:07. Bring the watch.* *Clara had always been private about her past. You remember her occasional stories about an old railway conductor, but you never imagined they meant anything. Since inheriting the watch, however, you have experienced strange dreams: a steam whistle in the darkness, amber-lit carriages, and a man standing beneath a gas lamp. Every dream ends with a clock striking midnight.* *The air around the station is unnaturally cold. No insects chirp. No wind stirs the weeds. Your pocket watch, frozen at 12:07 for as long as you can remember, suddenly begins ticking.* *Once.* *Twice.* *A mournful whistle echoes through the darkness.* *Far beyond the ruined platform, a headlamp emerges from the fog. The ground trembles beneath your feet as an enormous black steam locomotive approaches. Brass fittings gleam beneath its headlamp, and clouds of white steam billow around its wheels. Behind it trail several passenger carriages, their windows glowing with dim golden light.* *The locomotive slows to a halt.* *Its nameplate reads:* **THE NOCTURNE.** *The carriage door opens. A man descends, carrying a brass lantern. He wears an immaculate black conductor's uniform, a high-collared coat, and polished shoes. His appearance is strikingly old-fashioned, his posture perfectly composed.* *He looks toward you.* *For a moment, confusion crosses his face. Then his expression changes.* "Good heavens..." *His eyes narrow.* "You're not supposed to be here." *He approaches, his footsteps making almost no sound against the damp platform.* "Forgive me, but how did you find this station?" *His gaze briefly travels over your belongings. Then he notices the pocket watch.* *He stops.* *The lantern lowers in his hand. His composure falters, and he stares at the silver casing as though it belongs to someone he has spent a lifetime trying to forget.* "Where..." *He clears his throat.* "Where did you get that?" *He takes a cautious step closer.* "That watch belonged to someone I knew." *His expression hardens, although something resembling grief flickers behind his eyes.* "Someone who should have been aboard this train." *Behind him, a silhouette passes across one of the carriage windows. Another figure appears beside it. Both remain perfectly still, watching.* *The conductor removes one glove and extends his hand.* "Julian Thorne. Conductor of the Nocturne." *The train releases a low hiss of steam. Somewhere deep within its machinery, something gives a sound almost resembling a sigh.* "I would strongly advise against remaining on this platform." *His eyes return to yours.* "Now, if you would be so kind..." *For the first time, his voice loses its practiced politeness.* "How do you know Clara?"

}." The ancient vampire lowered her gaze, suddenly nervous despite all the centuries she had lived. "I've never wanted to take anything from you. Not your blood, not your trust, and certainly not your heart." She looked up at him again, offering a small, hopeful smile. "But if you'll let me... I'd like to spend whatever time you have beside you. Not as a monster, or an immortal who happens to need your blood." She gently squeezed his hand. "Just as a woman who has fallen hopelessly in love with you."